


Rogue Magic

by Talan (soracia)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drama, F/M, Fantasy, Het and Slash, Intrigue, M/M, Magic, Novel, Rebellion, Revolution, Romance, Sexual Content, Sibling Incest, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2005-03-24
Updated: 2007-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:51:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soracia/pseuds/Talan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small band of rebels on a journey to the east, returning from a mission for the gathering resistance against the totalitarian military dictatorship which took control of Valion more than twenty years ago. They just might have the final key to overthrowing the oppressive regime, and restoring the monarchy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**prologue**   


 

They were soldiers, city bred, and the likelihood of a tree as a hiding place did not occur to them. The fugitive had hid up this tree before, and knew exactly where to sit in order to be invisible from the ground. Darting around the corner of the huge gray building, the slight figure in a torn skirt swung up easily into the lower branches and vanished out of sight.

A small knot of soldiers burst around the corner in hot pursuit, and gradually slowed as they looked around at the empty yard. "Dammit! Where'd she go?"

"She disappeared...the general's going to be mad...she can't have gone far. Search the grounds!"

And though they crossed the grounds and searched around and under her hiding place, and anywhere else that might conceal an escaping thief, if that she was, not one of them looked up into the concealing branches. She clung to the branch, curling in on herself, as if to become smaller and less noticeable, even though the captain who stopped beneath her did not so much as raise his head. _I'm not here, I'm not here,_ she thought, chanting it in her mind like a spell, and perhaps it was, for a moment later the soldiers moved away to search the other side of the compound.

She shifted cautiously, peering through the leaves, trying to judge the distance to the edge of the nearby woods. Not too far, not far at all, but there was the fence between.... just a simple chain link fence, not even any razor wire, but she would have to climb it. She studied it, weighing her chances, looking over her shoulder at the guards who were still moving on the far side. No choice but to make a break for it, or lose the opportunity altogether. When they finished their search, a guard would be set at the main gate, and they would be sure to catch her if she moved.

Taking a deep breath, she slipped down, pausing for a mere second to flatten herself against the trunk, tucking her skirt up and making sure that no one was looking. Then she sprinted for the fence, leaping awkwardly to grab it as high as possible, and clambering up as fast as she could manage. She was nearly at the top when she heard shouts behind her, and she flinched, but kept climbing. Almost there....

At the top she didn't bother to jump, but threw herself off the other side, hitting the ground and rolling, coming up smoothly and bolting for the cover of the nearby trees. The shouts behind her faded as she slipped into the shadows, and the last thing she heard was the captain's disgusted exclamation of, "Shit! We'll never catch her in there..."

She did not hear the sigh and resigned command ending the search, or the confident observation which followed. "Take a unit and go around the long way...we'll pick her up at the train station in Smelton."

It would have surprised her that they knew where she was going, and she did not think to consider the possibility of the enemy waiting at the other end of her flight. Instead she ran headlong through the trees with the simple, artless grace of long familiarity.

Above her a thoughtful pair of eyes watched from another perch; having observed the search and subsequent escape, Morgan was curious. Making up his mind, he darted from one tree to the next, swinging through the branches with astonishing speed, and coming up just ahead of the running figure below him. He dropped down just in time for the other to run right into him, knocking them both down.

Having expected this, he was the first to recover, quickly rolling over and getting to his feet again. The escapee, on the other hand, sat up slowly and remained kneeling, looking stunned and yet resigned to have been captured after getting clean away. She raised her head, hair tumbling back to reveal a sullen, wary expression, and met her captor's eyes. Pretty eyes they were, she thought absently, an unusual shade of purple.

He studied her for a minute, the delicate features and shoulder length hair, and then his eyes narrowed and he smirked. "Why the skirt? Yer not a girl, mate."

The kneeling figure looked away, and his expression grew, if possible, even more sullen as he muttered resentfully, "It's none of your business, you wouldn't even know if you hadn't knocked me down, that wasn't very nice, now you're probably going to drag me back in there and all you can say is I'm not a girl? Why do you care?"

The pretty violet eyes gleamed and Morgan shrugged cheerfully. "I don't," he said, and he sounded as if he didn't. Throwing a glance in the direction the fugitive had been running, he continued, "You shouldn't go that way, ya know--they're just going to pick you up on the other side, idiot." His voice was lightly scornful but not unkind, and he still sounded as if it did not much matter to him one way or the other.

The bent head jerked up, blue eyes widening with a look of dismayed confusion. "What? How do you know that? You can't know that unless you work for them...but I already thought you were one of them, except you look kind of young so maybe you don't, but then I don't know why you stopped me..." he continued in that vein for several seconds, his voice trailing off, before he said abruptly, "I have to get out of here, they're gonna be looking for me, I have to get to Carrington."

Raising both eyebrows, Morgan said simply, "You don't want to go that way, then." Carrington...this kid was a spy? He didn't look it... Surprising himself, he offered suddenly, "Come on, I was headed that way myself... you can come with me. What's your name?"

That earned him a wary, distrustful look which faded quickly into a doubtful expression. "Simon," the boy answered absently, looking as if he were considering the offer with great reservation. "Why should I trust you?" There was a calculating gleam in the blue eyes, and his head tilted sideways. "I don't think I trust you... you knocked me down, and that was mean, mean people can't be trusted. How do I know you're not just taking me somewhere else to turn me in?"

Morgan shrugged. "You don't," he replied. "But I know those pricks back at the base want you pretty damn bad, and I'm not hauling you back there like I could. Anyway, what choice do you have?"

The other boy appeared to think this over, before nodding to himself. "Where are we going then?"

Morgan reached down to lend him a hand in getting to his feet. "Anywhere we want to, blue eyes. Anywhere we want."

"Carrington," Simon insisted, and Morgan rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Carrington. I said that a few minutes ago, idiot, didn't you listen?" He turned, striking off at a right angle to their previous path, and headed for the edge of the forest. His companion wandered along behind him, mumbling to himself.

"You said that way, you didn't say Carrington, so you could have meant something else, and just now you said anywhere we want, which could be anywhere, and I don't want to go anywhere but there..."

Morgan stopped listening, smiling faintly to himself as the muttered words went on. This was going to be a hell of an adventure.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually chapter two - there is a gap in the story between the prologue and the beginning here, but there's nothing really critical in it; basically it is just how Morgan and Simon meet Kevan's group and end up traveling on with them.

**chapter two**

 

Kevan still wasn't sure why he'd offered to let the fugitives travel with them. It wasn't just because Aine had given him the wide-eyed pleading look and said, "But they need us!" He wasn't sure that was true at all, but that look was hard to resist. Still, it was far from being the only reason. He just wasn't quite sure what those other reasons were.

He had to admit, however, that there was something about them...something which drew him to like them in spite of himself, something which made him soften and almost smile when he watched them together, their contrasting sharp words and friendly manner, the comfortable way they acted with one another. Something which somehow, gave them a place among the ones he wanted to protect, although that list was normally short indeed. They called to him in some way, with their subbornness and their courage, and their very aloneness against such overwhelming odds.

Now they were on the road again, running. Or at least, traveling with haste in fear of pursuit. Overall, Kevan was still making up his mind about whether the new additions to their small band were worth it. Aine was convinced they were, and his sister was usually right about these things. But he had his doubts. They wouldn't be in nearly so much trouble if it wasn't for those two.

He wasn't even really surprised when the trouble came from ahead, and not from behind.

"Get back," he ordered, motioning the others to stay behind him as he caught sight of the roadblock. A line of brownies with rifles, led by a man in a dark hooded cloak.

"Dammit," Coren muttered behind him. "There's too many of them."

Kevan grimaced. Coren was right. They were outnumbered and not as well armed, and if they stood to fight, they would lose, and lose badly. But maybe it wasn't still too late for some of them to run. He started going down a list of possible distractions in his head, looking for something that would allow most of them to get away.

Aine's quiet murmur, answering Coren, interrupted his calculations. "No," she said, the words soft but insistent, "there's only one."

Frowning, Kevan looked again, and this time he saw the telltale haze that marked an illusion, no matter how skilled. Aine was no mage, herself, but she'd been around him long enough to know magic when she saw it, and she had clearer sight than most.

"All of you, get off the road," he told them, striding forward to meet the cloaked figure who must also be a mage. Kevan heard them scatter behind him, a vague awaremess as his focus narrowed to the road and the upraised hands of the man in front of him, beginning a spell that made the air crackle sharply with the smell of sorcery. His own hands sketched a quick warding and he cast about for an appropriate counterattack.

"Traitor," he snarled at the other mage, with all the anger he reserved for those who chose to use the power they held in service of oppression, to a military that ruled by fear and enforced with brutal efficiency. The man didn't bother to answer, already having nearly completed the spell he wove. Kevan gritted his teeth, ducking as the energy released lanced toward him in a form that was significantly more complex than it appeared.

Not that he had the time or the inclination to appreciate its intricacy at the moment--he was too busy dodging, firing off an attack of his own, a simple blast of pure magic shaped into a bolt of energy; crude, but effective...if it had actually hit anything. Which it didn't; his opponent was equally good at dodging, it appeared, and Kevan growled deep in his throat as he pulled out the first attack spell he could think of that could do a lot of damage with minimal preparation.

He threw it at the mage and... nothing happened, except that another spell flashed in the man's hands and Kevan had to duck again and reinforce his warding. What the hell had that been? It was like hitting shielding, only...not. There had been no flash, no impact, no... damage. It was as if his spell had been sucked into a black hole, and the energy with which it was fueled along with it. Not only that, but--he wondered if he was paranoid to think that it had seemed like the other mage had _used_ his spell's energy to fuel his own; but that wasn't possible...was it?

It didn't much matter at the moment, and he decided there was pretty much only one way to deal with this--if an outright attack didn't work, and the man actually was somehow using his energy, then pretty much only one thing was going to stop him. Some kind of a trap...some way to trick him into using his own attack against himself. Kevan sorted through the short list of trap spells he knew that didn't require elaborate preparation and physical ingredients--very few, indeed, and only one that he could probably pull off before he got himself killed here.

It was fairly simple, really, simple but effective; the main reason it didn't get used more often was that it was also, often, fairly easy to counter. What Kevan was counting on was first, that the other mage would be expecting an attack rather than a trap, and secondly, that he was right about whatever that strange shielding was. Two rather large risks, really, but it was the only thing that was going to give him a chance here, and he'd never cared about odds.

He spared a single glance behind him to make sure the others had gotten out of sight as he traded another spell and counterspell with his opponent; the man was good, and if he weren't an enemy, Kevan thought he might actually enjoy a duel with the guy. It was, he thought, a shame that men with that kind of talent chose to use it for such bad ends. He said as much, or rather growled it in sheer frustration as he started setting up the threads of energy he'd need for the trap spell.

He knew what this spell did, it was dangerous, and it bothered him to have to use it on another mage--but, he reminded himself, this one worked for the military. Idiot. Such a waste, and it made him angry, angry with the other man in particular and with the whole damn situation. Someone had to do something about it, and soon. He wondered vaguely why he thought suddenly of Simon, but it was a passing stray thought which he had no time to pay attention to.

He ducked yet again, gathering the ends of his spell, checking it one last time, and shouting a last warning at the other man, getting, as usual, no response; except this time, a faint frown. Fine. Kevan had given him more of a chance than he really deserved, he thought, and if he wasn't even going to talk, then he was going down. He paused, going still and bracing himself, holding his spell ready and waiting...waiting for one more attack, and there it was, bright traces of magic threaded in a complex pattern through the mage's fingers.

Kevan frowned, not recognizing the formation, and hoped belatedly that this wasn't yet another unexpected trick that was going to backfire on him. This man had some really...really strange magical signs, and he wondered vaguely where and how he'd been trained, with a faint sense of regret that he would never know.

Then it was too late, and he gritted his teeth and didn't duck this time, standing still as the spell was cast and thrown, raising his own hands at the last minute and throwing out the trap to meet it. For a minute, nothing happened--he scowled, wondering what the hell he was going to do now, because that was his last trick, and the others weren't nearly far enough away yet, it wasn't good enough, not nearly good enough, but there had to be something... and then the subtle flash of light, like the transmutation of a cloud flashed where the magics had met in midair, transforming into the familiar greenish gold net-like formation of the trap. Kevan breathed a huge sigh of relief and straightened out of his half crouch where he'd been ready to run or duck or simply throw himself out of the way again, and watched silently as it settled over the man's head and shoulders.

The mage gave him a single, startled, wide eyed look of incomprehension, and then his expression went blank and he froze, hands still upraised, bent slightly as if he too had been ready to duck or run. But now he was still, unmoving, and would remain that way until someone who knew the spell and how to reverse it happened to come this way. Probably a long time. It was, Kevan admitted to himself, rather a nasty trap, and one he didn't like to use, but this guy had definitely been asking for it.

He sighed wearily, rubbing the back of his wrist across his forehead and looking around for the pack he'd dropped by the side of the road. Not finding it, he assumed Aine had grabbed it for him when the rest of them had run. Good girl. And damn, he had a headache. He gave the frozen man one last glance, eyeing the barely visible green gold dust motes still hovering around his head--they wouldn't be visible at all to a normal sighted person. Then he turned away, moving past and starting off up the road again, hoping that the rest of the group had managed to gather somewhere safe and that he could find them without too much trouble.

The mage behind him was soon forgotten without a second thought, his only faint puzzlement still remaining being what exactly it had been, that shielding or fusion that made his spell disappear like that. It couldn't have been what it had looked like. That just wasn't possible.

Unfortunately, it seemed he was never going to know for sure.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**chapter three**

The others were _waiting_ for him, the little group gathered just inside the nearby forest, around a bend in the road. They came out of hiding when they saw him, starting forward to rejoin him on the road, and Kevan stood with his hands on his hips and scowled as he watched them come.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he greeted them, just as if he were not pleased and relieved and glad to see them again.

Aine raised an eyebrow at him. "Waiting for you," she replied, as if that should have been obvious. Which it was, and thus the scowl.

"Not that I don't appreciate the vote of confidence," he growled, "but do not, ever, do that again. I tell you to run, you _run_ and don't look back. Don't stop and wait and look for me until you get somewhere safe. Understand?" He absently checked them over as he spoke, looking for injuries or other signs of trouble. But they all looked fine, none the worse for wear, if all a little worried.

Aine frowned right back at him. "It was a single mage, Kevan. You could handle him. Don't worry so much."

"My worrying is what keeps you alive," he snapped, more annoyed than he should be, perhaps, but damn it. If he was going to stop and cause a distraction for them to get safely away, they damn well better get _safe_ , and the doubtful cover of the forest just wasn't good enough. If the mage had had backup, if they had been searching nearby... "Idiots," he said grimly. "Next time you keep going and don't stop, for anything. Next time, it might not be me that follows you. I am not undefeatable, no matter how much you might like to think so. So run and keep running. Stay together and stay safe. I will find you, no matter where you go."

Aine sighed. "Kevan..." She looked troubled, and he knew that it went hard against the grain for her to leave anyone behind, especially himself. But that was the way this game worked. The game called survival. Taking unnecessary chances was not acceptable.

"No arguments!" He glared at his sister, and held out his hand for the extra pack she still carried. She handed it over with a resigned expression, saying nothing further, but he knew she was still unhappy about it. They were going to have this conversation again later. But not now. He looked around at the rest of them, his frown softening slightly into concern rather than annoyance. "Everyone okay?"

"We're all fine," Coren assured him quietly, and Kevan nodded, shouldering his pack.

"Let's go then," he stated, turning to look up the road. "The farther away from here we are by nightfall, the better."

He ignored the various quiet murmurs of assent as they all put themselves in order, and led the way as they started walking again--a little faster than before, if possible. That could have gone better. That could have gone a lot better, and they didn't need the delay. He still had a headache.

\-----

"Is he always like that?" Morgan muttered to Coren as they walked side by side at the back of the group.

Coren gave him a sardonic look. "What, all forceful and commanding? Or cranky as hell?" Without waiting for a reply, he answered both questions himself. "Yes."

Morgan shook his head. "Guy needs to lighten up," he drawled quietly. "He's gonna stress himself into an early grave yet."

Rather irritated by his lack of respect, Coren frowned sideways at him. "He's right. He's the one keeping us alive, and that includes you," he said sharply. "We shouldn't have waited," he added quietly to himself, casting a worried look at Aine's back ahead of him. "She's too emotional about him."

A raised eyebrow and an appraising look at the brother and sister walking together at the front of the group, and then Morgan shrugged. "It's natural, eh? She's his sister."

"That's not all she is," Coren answered, frowning deeply. Not that he felt like explaining Aine and Kevan's rather complicated relationship to a relative stranger. He lapsed into silent brooding, thinking that next time he was going to have to overrule her, whether she liked it or not. Aine was the unspoken leader of their group, when Kevan was not present, but if she couldn't handle the tough decisions, someone else was going to have to do it for her.

Morgan was giving him a thoughtful look, but he didn't ask any more questions, for which Coren was grateful. He didn't really want to talk about it.

Simon was right in front of him, and Coren could hear the strange boy mumbling to himself as he walked. Something about how he didn't blame Aine for waiting, it had been obvious what was going to happen and they hadn't needed to run so far, but if Kevan wanted them to he supposed they should, but he didn't like it because... The voice got softer and more indistinct, and Coren listened absently, not really catching the words, but the odd monotone reminded him of Aaron for some reason, and it was vaguely reassuring.

He missed Aaron--it was nice to have someone around who could be counted on to stay cheerful, most of the time, in spite of his quick temper, and he missed the way the other boy would usually be humming or singing as he walked. Aaron was supposed to be waiting for them at Kingsford, and Coren wondered absently how far they still had to go, how many days it would be until the last member of the group could rejoin them. It would be a relief to have everyone together again, and he knew Kevan would relax a bit then. Better for everyone.

"Oy, Kevan!" he called, waiting until Kevan turned his head slightly, listening. "How far to Kingsford?"

Kevan didn't answer immediately, and Coren knew he was calculating in his head again. "About two days, if we don't get stopped again," the deep voice answered at last, and Coren nodded. Not too far then. Kingsford in two days, and then they would be halfway to Carrington. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

\-----

Morgan was intrigued. The dynamics of this little band were interesting, if strange, and he turned them over in his mind, watching all the subtle interactions with bright, sharp eyes. Himself and Simon, of course, were the new pieces, fitting uncomfortably on the edges of things, neither apart nor quite accepted, yet. Or perhaps that was just himself.

Simon didn't appear to notice any awkwardness at all, melting easily into the center of the group and quietly assuming a role of simple acquiescence, not really interacting much but filling a space, almost a gap nonetheless with his continual muttering and unquestioning willingness to follow the decisions of the group. Which basically meant Kevan's decisions, since the others rarely objected. Perhaps it was mainly Kevan that Simon followed anyway; Morgan was fairly sure that Simon had taken little notice of anyone else, but he often watched Kevan with a slightly puzzled frown, as if he were trying to figure something out. He seemed to find the man reassuring somehow, like a center of gravity, seemingly accepting Kevan as his leader without reservations.

Morgan had reservations. He wasn't quite sure whether or not he was jealous. He hadn't really known Simon all that long himself, but he had been the one who got them both through Smelton relatively unscathed, and he felt slightly injured by the way that Kevan had captured Simon's attention, and his loyalty, with such apparent ease. Still, he wasn't prepared to say he was jealous. Not really.

The fact that he still hung on the fringes of the group was as much his fault as anyone else's. He was watching, used to being on his own, not quite sure if he wanted to throw his lot in with them completely. Wary. His limited experience of the world had taught him that no one looked out for you unless you looked out for yourself. The others seemed to depend on Kevan, letting him take charge, which Morgan thought dryly he seemed more than willing to do. But Morgan wasn't so sure he wanted or needed anyone giving _him_ orders, and Kevan's commanding presence rubbed him the wrong way as often as not.

Still, he had to admit that it was kind of nice letting someone else worry about things for a change, and he was willing to stick around as long as it was interesting. So he stayed and watched, noting curiously the way that Coren was an unobtrusive shadow to Kevan, making quiet remarks when he wanted to point something out, but otherwise staying in the background. Kevan and Aine both seemed willing to accept his input without comment, and Morgan had the feeling that the three of them had been together for a long time, as if Coren were an honorary sibling or something. It made him feel slightly wistful.

Right now, though, what he was most curious about was that unfinished statement Coren had made about Aine. That's not all she is? What else? He watched Aine and her brother closely, puzzling over it. They were close, easy with each other, and Morgan had even seen the quick flash of Kevan's smile a time or two--which was seldom seen and rarely directed at anyone else. He knew that Kevan was a mage, and Aine was not. They weren't partners, not in a practical sense.

He studied them consideringly, and put it away to think about later. Perhaps he could get something more out of Coren when they stopped to rest.


	4. Chapter 4

**chapter four  
**  
Aine was worried. She was doing her best not to show it, but the lines of strain on Kevan's face were bothering her. He had a headache, he'd said, which was not, in itself, terribly alarming; but his distraction and the way he hesitated now and then as he walked, as if he'd forgotten something and were trying to remember what it was--that was unusual.

She kept talking, cheerfully, making plans for when they finally got to Kingsford, but she was keeping a sharp eye on her brother, and she didn't like what she saw. The air of strain about him was getting worse, not better, and she opened her mouth several times to ask him if he was alright; then closed it again, knowing that the only answer would be an absent affirmative.

"We can spend a few days there, right? Take a rest? Aaron will have found a safe place, and we can afford to take some time and get some real sleep." She bounced a little as she walked, looking forward to seeing her other 'brother' again. Aaron had been her best friend for as long as she could remember, and she couldn't wait to have all of her little family together again.

"Yeah, we can do that." Kevan sighed, sounding weary, and Aine threw him another concerned glance. She touched his arm, trying to get his attention, and he gave her a tired smile. "It'll be safe," he agreed with her. "For a few days."

"Good," she answered happily, humming one of Aaron's favorite songs under her breath as she walked. Once they got to Kingsford, she was going to make him sleep. She knew he didn't sleep much on the road, resting lightly and staying more or less alert whenever they stopped. She'd scolded him for it enough times to know that nothing she said was going to make the slightest bit of difference. They all took turns on watch when they made camp for the night, but Kevan could never sleep easily even when it wasn't his turn to stand watch. She sighed, hoping that they could make good time with no more delays. It was going to be a long two days.

It took her a moment to notice that he was no longer beside her; he'd stopped walking, standing in the middle of the road and frowning, head tilted slightly to one side as if listening.

"Kevan?"

He ignored her, turning to look over his shoulder, then slowly shook his head, rubbing his forehead as if it hurt. "It's nothing," he told her, but he didn't look convinced.

She frowned, pressing her lips together in a disapproving line. "Kevan!" she protested. But he was walking again, moving past her, and she looked at Coren, who shrugged. Let him be, his look said, and she nodded slowly, her face unhappy. Damn his stubborn hide. But fine. If he didn't want to talk about it, she could let him be.

That resolution lasted about five minutes, until they reached a crossroad and Kevan stumbled just on the other side. A faint gasp that sounded like pain, and he was shaking his head, rubbing his forehead again with an unsteady hand.

"Kevan! What's wrong?" She darted forward, catching his arm and looking up at him with a worried frown.

He straightened with what looked like an effort, staring into the distance with an abstracted look, as if he were seeing something else. "I...don't know," he murmured. "That.... something went wrong... that spell..." He looked over his shoulder again at the road behind them, stretching back out of sight, nothing visible except dust and sunlight, and the green of trees on either side. Coren and the other two were standing too, watching, and Coren at least looked as worried as she felt. Simon was frowning, mumbling under his breath as he looked back the way they had come.

"Wrong?" Aine asked worriedly, looking from Kevan to the empty road and back again. Wrong how?

He shook his head silently, turning again to face the way ahead. "It doesn't matter. Let's go." His jaw was set determinedly, and Aine knew better than to ask anymore. It doesn't matter, he'd said. She just hoped he was right.

~*~

Kevan could feel Aine's eyes on him, getting more and more worried, and he thought vaguely that he must look pretty bad. But he didn't want to know, really, and he was too busy thinking about the mage he'd left behind to be too concerned about it. What had happened back there? The trap spell had appeared to work exactly the way it was supposed to, freezing the other mage and rendering him incapable of moving or using magic. What it actually did, in theory, was trap all the energy he had access to and loop it around him in a complicated, seamless knot, sealed by the spell. Useless to him, but still there, holding him motionless in an invisible web of power. If the magic were removed from him completely, he would die, but Kevan wasn't interested in killing him, as long as he could stop him without going that far.

It was beginning to look like he had miscalculated. The trap should have cut off from its source the moment it left Kevan's hands, but he could still feel a thread of power stretching behind him, tugging at his mind. What had gone wrong? He should have known there was something strange about the reaction...the trap had taken too long to activate, and he'd seen how different the other man's magic was. Something wasn't right. But he couldn't worry about it yet; he still had to get Aine and the rest to a safe place.

So he gritted his teeth and kept walking, ignoring the increasing pressure in his mind and the growing headache that was getting worse the farther they walked. Just a little farther. Just a few more miles, to the edge of Leewood, the village where they had planned to stop for the night. There was a small cabin on the edge of town, deserted but more or less in good shape, at least it had been the last time he had come this way. He would make sure the others were safely hidden, and then try to decide what he was going to do.

He'd already tried disconnecting that lingering thread from this end, and it had made his headache flare up in a bright red warning. Obviously it was not going to be that simple. Kevan was probably going to have to go back and try to mend the spell itself, and he was not looking forward to it. Not only was it going to take him most of the night to get there and back, but seeing someone trapped like that was... creepy. They weren't dead, or even unconscious, but nor were they precisely conscious, either. It was a kind of limbo, which was what he felt mired in just now. An inbetween state, still held by the magic that didn't seem to want to let go of him.

He growled softly, unaccountably angry at the man who was apparently responsible for his difficulty, and frowned harder, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, step after step along the dusty road. Just a few more miles.

As a matter of fact it was nearly five miles, and by the time they reached the edge of Leewood, Kevan was exhausted. And angry. Lots of that. The military and their damned mages with strange, twisted magic from god knew where could go to hell. He would be more than happy to see to it personally.

~*~

Coren didn't like this. He didn't like it at all. Kevan looked drained, much more weary than a simple headache should have made him, even after the journey. Aine was hovering and trying not to hover, knowing that Kevan had even less patience than usual when he was in pain. And he was obviously in pain. Coren frowned. What the hell had he done, and why hadn't it worked?

He knew very little about magic, content to accept that it was, that Kevan knew it as well as he knew how to breathe, and he didn't worry about the details. Magic was there, but he didn't have the talent for it, and he was just as glad. It seemed a burdensome power, complex and tricky and he didn't care to mess with it. But just now, he was wishing he knew more about it. He followed silently, thinking hard as Kevan turned off the main road, taking them on a vaguely familiar path along the edge of town.

Sunk deep in his own thoughts, trying to remember everything Kevan had ever told him about the way his magic worked, Coren failed to notice the sideways looks that Morgan was giving him until he spoke, sounding considerably more subdued than usual.

"Is he going to be okay?"

Coren looked blankly at him for a moment before the question registered. "Kevan?" He frowned, a retort on the tip of his tongue to the effect that it was hardly any of Morgan's business. Why should he care? But he swallowed the ungracious words with an effort, and simply shrugged. "Who knows. He's a stubborn bastard...take more than a failed spell to bring him down." The words were more bravado than conviction, and he scowled, kicking at a small stone in his path.

Damn Kevan, anyway. Did he always have to do things the hard way? Coren knew that none of them would have been any use in a mage fight, that Kevan had been right about sending the rest of them on ahead. But that didn't mean he liked it any better that something had gone wrong, and no one had been there to help. That none of them _could_ help if they had been. No one else even knew, or would understand if they were told, what exactly Kevan had tried and why it hadn't worked. Although apparently Kevan himself didn't know that. And that was most disturbing of all.

The small abandoned hut was visible now ahead of them, a place they had used once or twice before as a temporary stopping place. Coren found himself relieved, hoping that Kevan could relax now, and maybe he could get some answers.


	5. Chapter 5

**chapter five**

Aine followed Kevan into the dubious shelter of the hut as they reached it, and refrained from commenting on his obvious exhaustion. She had a bad feeling about this. She had a really bad feeling about this. Moving further into the single large room, she went over to inspect the mats on the floor where they would sleep, dropping her pack beside them. Not too bad. For a night's worth of sleep, they would do nicely. Then she headed for the tiny kitchen area on the western wall, dusting things off as she went.

This place was a long way from being the worst spot they'd ever stopped in, but it was equally far from being the best. She would bet no one had been here since the last time they had crashed here. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust, and there were old leaves piled up in the corner, and drifted in the small fireplace. They could use them for tinder. One of the windows on the north side was broken, and another was missing entirely. She hoped it wouldn't rain.

In spite of her apparent absorption in domestic duties, she was still watching Kevan out of the corner of her eye, listening to the note of strain in his voice as he directed the others where to put their gear. The strain which had not lessened in the slightest since the incident at the crossroad five miles back, and in fact, seemed to have gotten worse.

She was briefly distracted by a soft discussion between Simon and Morgan as they dropped down on the sleeping mats in the corner, stowing their things and then kneeling with their heads together, looking at something spread out between them that appeared to be a map. She shook her head, bemused and intrigued, wondering if she could get them to show it to her later. It would be useful to see how far they had to go yet.

Her attention was drawn away then as she became aware of Kevan and Coren standing by the door, having a quiet argument. Her gaze sharpened and she put down the rag she'd found to clean the counter with, listening intently. Kevan was shaking his head, looking impatient, and Coren was frowning at him.

"You can't," he insisted. "It's too far. You can't get there and back in one night, and we can't afford more delays. And even if you could, you would have gotten no sleep and we have at least twelve miles to cover tomorrow. You'll be in no shape for walking."

"I'll be fine," Kevan answered briefly, with that stubborn set to his jaw that Aine knew too well; and so did Coren. He eyed Kevan with some irritation.

"Damn you, would it kill you not to be right for once?"

Kevan didn't answer, and Aine took the opportunity to come over and join the conversation. "What are you doing, Kevan?" she asked worriedly.

"He's going to go back and find that mage to see what happened to his damn spell," Coren answered for him, sounding both angry and resigned. Aine stared at them both.

"You're crazy," she muttered. "You know how far that is?" She reached out to take Kevan's hand, hugging his arm as she studied his set face. "There has to be some other way..." her voice trailed off into silence. "Kevan?"

Kevan said nothing, his eyes locked on Coren's angry ones, a silent battle of wills. Kevan looked away first, rubbing his head again.

"You don't understand," he said quietly, sounding tired. "I can't _do_ anything from here. The spell is..." He shook his head, at a loss for words. "Something is wrong. I can't stop it from here. I have to go back. I have to fix it." He pulled away from Aine, pushing past Coren to the door. "I'll be back by sunrise. If I'm not... leave without me." He fixed Coren with a hard stare, making it an order.

Coren nodded once, sharply, the anger and frustration still burning in his eyes. Aine shook her head in denial, desperation making her want to throw herself at her brother and hang on, keeping him here. Safe. But she stood silent and swallowed the plea she might have made, watching him walk out the door into the deepening shadows of dusk.

"Fuck," Coren ground out, kicking the nearby wall in useless fury. Aine couldn't have agreed more.

~*~

Kevan felt better as soon as he walked out the door, and that made him angry, too. What _was_ the goddamned thread, anyway? Pain, his headache answered for him, and he squinted in the dark to see the path ahead of him, the one that led back to the road. He'd screwed up, and screwed up badly. He just didn't know how, and he had even less of an idea how to fix it. Or even if he could. The memory of fear in Coren and Aine's faces hurt in an entirely different way, and he let out a long, heavy sigh.

There was no way he could make them understand; the wrongness of the spell was _pulling_ at him, insistent and demanding, leading back to that lonely spot on the road which was now so far behind. That was where the problem was--that was the only way to fix it. Go back and untangle his magic from the damaged trap. If it was a trap. He had his doubts, now, about what exactly the spell had done. He might get there and find the other mage already dead, his magic and his life force drained by the corrupted spell. By Kevan's mistake.

Worse, he might find that the trap had failed entirely, that the man had broken free and gone back to warn his commander. Kevan might be walking into an ambush. He had no way of knowing. Damn fool and his strange foreign magic. What the hell had caused him to ally himself with the military anyway? Only traitors and fools did that.

Kevan reached the main road and turned right, back to the west, retracing his steps down the same road he'd walked earlier that day. It was nearly full dark now, but the moon overhead was bright and full, which at least was a mercy. His weariness had lessened too, as if whatever had been draining him was ebbing as he walked. But he still had a headache.

It was a long, lonely walk back to the place they had dueled, seven or eight miles--he stopped counting after awhile, letting his mind drift back to the problem at hand. Why...how... what had happened to that spell? It should have worked. It looked like it had worked. So why hadn't it? Without looking at the remains of the magic, he couldn't tell. All he had was the bright thread of power that shone faintly in the moonlight as he followed it back down the road.

~*~

It was, he thought, nearly midnight when he could see the bend in the road ahead of him, around which lay the place he was looking for. His headache had lessened considerably, gradually as he'd gotten closer; though it still throbbed in time with his pulse, it was no longer stabbing behind his eyes with every step he took. He was still angry, but that was fading too in the face of his bewilderment as he continued to turn the pieces of the puzzle over in his mind. It simply didn't make sense.

The first spell, the one that had disappeared....the odd sense of fusion as it seemed to be absorbed into thin air. That was bothering him. The mage he'd faced, as far as he could tell, had an entirely different sort of magic. If he'd expected anything at all, he might have thought they'd mix like oil and water, simply bouncing off each other and deflecting, or perhaps explode in an uncontrolled burst of energy as they met and clashed. But this...this had been nothing of the sort. It had simply _disappeared_. He didn't understand it. That _wasn't possible_.

Magic, for all it's arcane nature, was still ruled by natural laws, one of them being that matter cannot be created or destroyed, and another, that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Spells didn't just...vanish. Not like that. The energy had to go _somewhere_ , and he was reminded again of the impression he'd gotten that the other man had _used_ it to fuel his own spell. That was just...wrong. That didn't, couldn't happen. Everyone had a different energy signature, and while they were all compatible, all the same basic type of power, they weren't...exchangeable. Fuseable. But Kevan knew fusion when he felt it, and that had been fusion.

It made him slightly ill, the idea that someone could take his magic that way. It was too much like the curse that stripped a condemned mage of all his power, the one that let him die in a matter of minutes with all that energy bleeding out of him, along with his life. Kevan shuddered, and paused as he reached the bend in the road, bracing himself for whatever might lay beyond it.

He took a deep breath, muttering a simple protection spell that was a variation on an old prayer; for many of the old chants had held power, even for those who had no inherent magic. But religion was another thing that the military had stamped out or controlled as ruthlessly as education and commerce. The old chants were outlawed now. Kevan gritted his teeth, his anger surging back to the surface as he rounded the bend in the road.

  


  



	6. Chapter 6

**chapter six**

It was rather anticlimactic, really, when he turned the corner and saw... nothing out of place. Just the mage, still frozen, the faint shimmer of greenish-gold web still hovering around him. Kevan frowned and strode forward, still cautious but less worried now. So the trap had held. It was just... flawed, somehow. It had worked, it just hadn't worked the way it was supposed to. He circled the still form of the mage, studying the spell. It still looked...fine. But no, wait...that thread, and that one... that wasn't supposed to be there. That wasn't the right pattern.

His frown deepened and he moved closer, examining the woven threads of light. The moonlight shone down and made them glimmer, reflecting their colors in a muted silver light. What... the hell... Kevan straightened and stood, arms folded, looking sternly at the spell as if it would thus suddenly reform itself and behave. Where did that other thread come from, and how was he going to fix it?

The first part of the question was obvious, not that he liked the answer. From the other mage, or more likely from his spell. Instead of redirecting the energy into the trap, the attack spell had somehow gotten tangled into the structure of the trap itself. That wasn't supposed to happen. That wasn't supposed to be _possible_. Kevan had a feeling he was going to get very tired of that phrase.

"What are you, bastard?" he muttered at the frozen mage, who could of course neither hear nor answer. He studied the man idly, wondering where he was from. He looked... well, almost familiar. Kevan grimaced. West. He would bet anything this man had come from the western border. Like himself.

No.... He shook his head. Western the man might be, but not the mage. That magic didn't come from here. That came from... across the border. Outside of Valion. From the desert. Fuck. No wonder the military wanted him.

  
Kevan tilted his head, noting the expression on the man's face. That was disturbingly familiar as well--and wrong. Tension, strain, and lines of pain etched deeply....that wasn't right. He paused, listening, reaching out with his senses to touch the magic itself. And flinched, taking a startled step backwards. Okay, that was not good. He shook his head, still wincing. The other man's mind was not quite conscious, held by the spell, but it was much closer to consciousness than it should have been. And it was full of pain. Enough pain to make his earlier headache look like a mockery. Something was seriously wrong.

The trap was supposed to hold someone out of time, out of sense, and dammit, it wasn't supposed to hurt! It should have been... Kevan shook his head, frustrated, growling under his breath. No, that was bad. That had to be fixed. He reached out automatically, with his hands this time, stepping closer and laying them on either side of the man's head, closing his eyes in concentration. Bracing himself against the pain, he let his mind sink deeper into the flawed spell, separating the strands and examining them one by one, tracing their path as they wove over and around each other.

 _Pain...confusion...fear..._ Kevan pushed the emotions aside, trying to absorb the information he needed without getting sucked in too deeply to the mind beneath. If he wasn't careful, he risked getting caught in the trap himself. But he was no longer thinking of that. Nor was he thinking of this man as an enemy. This was a man he had inadvertantly sealed into a nightmare of pain, tortured by his own magic but unable to reach through it to free himself. No matter who he was or what he had done, he didn't deserve that. No one did.

~*~  
  
The strands of magic, both his own and the strange, foreign ones, were tangled in a complex pattern that at first glance, _looked_ like the trap spell they were meant to be. But they were different. They were very, very different. After spending awhile--it seemed like a very long time, but it might have only been a few minutes--trying to sort them and trace them out, Kevan groaned and swore softly to himself. Bloody...hell. It was nearly impossible to tell where his own magic ended and the other's began.

It was like neither the trap spell nor the other man's attack spell were all there. Or rather, as if neither one had been finished. They had simply twisted themselves together in an oddly unchaotic mass of half-completed magic, holding both spells and their casters caught in the suspension of unreleased energy, so interwoven-- _fused_ , that little voice in his head reminded him--that there was no way to separate them. There was no way to fix this without undoing it completely. Which meant taking it apart, strand by strand, and releasing all of the energy back into their life force.

Kevan studied it absently, careful not to remove his hands, while he tried to find a place to start. Gods, what a mess. Sighing, he leant forward, resting his forehead against that of the man before him. And sucked in his breath in a sharp gasp as the pain surged up, beating at his mind like hammer. _It hurts, it hurts, god please make it stop._ He flinched again, uncertain if the words behind the pain were this man's or his own, but not really caring. Make it stop. Please. He took a deep breath, and opened himself to the power, immersing himself completely in the spell. This was going to take awhile.

~*~   
  
It took at least an hour, maybe more. Kevan wasn't counting, but he finally was down to the final knot, the last strand of magic, and he didn't even know anymore if it was his or not, part of his spell or the other--not that it mattered at this point. He hesitated, taking a deep, slow breath and letting it out again. Then he cut the knot.

The mage in front of him collapsed, and Kevan reached frantically to catch him before he hit the ground. Shit. He should have been expecting that. He caught the man awkwardly, one arm behind him and the other grabbing a handful of his cloak, and eased him to the ground. Then he sat back wearily and rubbed his face with his hands, sighing heavily with relief. At least that was over. Lord and lady, that was an experience he never wanted to repeat.

He had thought the other man was unconscious, but then he stirred, moaning softly, and Kevan frowned as an echo of pain lanced through his mind. What the fuck? He leaned over, studying the man's face, the familiar features still tense and strained, though less pained than before. The man's eyelids fluttered open, trying to focus on the face above him, and Kevan frowned deeper as their eyes met. That was...strange...

The expression on the man's face was almost startled, slightly wondering. He looked as if he had found... and he smiled, a strangely sweet smile. His lips moved, and then he spoke, his voice a whisper, rough and hoarse. Like the sound, Kevan thought vaguely, of one who has spent a long time screaming. But the words were what caught his attention.

"Part of me tried to become... part of you, and part of you...tried to become...part of me." And his eyes slid closed again, and this time he was unconscious.

Kevan stared at him, thoroughly unsettled. What in all the hells was that supposed to mean?

~*~

Those were the first and last words he spoke. He remained unconscious for a very long time--while Kevan sat blankly for at least ten minutes, staring into space, and finally shook his head and stood and frowned, trying to decide what to do. While, when he had decided, he spent a good half hour trying to figure out how to move the unconscious mage-- _Isaiah_ \--and carefully not thinking about how or why he suddenly knew the man's name. Carefully not thinking about a number of things, really, starting with the way his headache was back, but it wasn't his. Oh yeah. He was definitely not thinking about that.

Nor was he thinking at all about the reason he was suddenly, apparently, not planning to leave without him--since he was standing here trying to figure out how to take Isaiah with him. And Isaiah was still unconscious when Kevan finally lifted him awkwardly and wrapped an arm around his waist, draping one of Isaiah's arms over his shoulders, taking his weight and more than half-carrying, half-dragging him as he started the long slow walk back up the road. For the second time that day. And Isaiah remained unconscious for a good while after that.

That was just fine with Kevan, who didn't want to talk, and was even less inclined to think. Isaiah was tall, maybe taller than Kevan himself, and heavy, and he wished he could use a spell to either make him lighter or make him float, or perhaps some combination thereof; but the last thing he wanted to do was another spell with an unpredictable and possibly worse reaction.

So he walked, and didn't think, especially not about what Aine was going to say when he walked in. Isaiah's body was heavy and warm, and Kevan was tired and taken entirely by surprise when he finally did regain consciousness, just before he reached Leewood again.

Not that he was talking, either, in fact he made no sound save for a soft groan that was immediately stifled as it made his headache worse. But there were suddenly several things that were harder to ignore. Like Isaiah's headache, and why the fuck was Kevan feeling Isaiah's headache anyway? But it was still, just as clearly, not his. Nor was the faint confusion that flickered at the edge of his own emotions; although he was definitely feeling plenty of that himself. But this was...other. And yet not. As if it somehow belonged.

Confusion, frustration, anger, apprehension...some of them his, some of them not, and all unwelcome at the moment. Like the faint thread of question that trickled through his mind, not exactly words, but it was clear enough. _Are you...mad at me?_

Kevan didn't even _know_ the answer to that right now. He gritted his teeth, shaking his head, and it might have been a denial or simply a, later. Keep walking, right. One step at a time. Don't think, don't feel, just walk. Isaiah was helping now, or trying to, stumbling every other step or so, which made his headache flare up, but he kept trying. Almost there.

Sunrise.


	7. Chapter 7

**chapter seven - 1473**

"He's back," Coren announced, a note of relief in his voice. It was just past sunrise; they had been getting ready to leave. Aine had insisted on waiting until the last possible minute, and no one else really wanted to leave without Kevan either. They had lingered past dawn until it was well and truly sunrise. It was more than time to go, and Coren had been prepared to drag Aine out the door by force if necessary. However, he was as relieved as she was to see Kevan had made it back, just barely in time.

He frowned, peering at the figure just visible down the path, and his eyes widened in surprise. "And he's got someone with him," he added, sounding grim.

Aine gave him a confused look, and moved to join him at the window. She felt her blood freeze as she saw the unmistakable form of the mage who had attacked them, leaning heavily on Kevan as they made their way slowly up the path. No wonder it had taken that long, if they were moving that slowly. She shook her head in disbelief and subtle horror, all the tales she had ever heard about deceptive magic and mind control coming back to haunt her. She could think of only one reason why Kevan would bring an enemy back to their hiding place, and that was if said enemy had used the spell to somehow control her brother, or at least, confuse him.

"He brought that...that..." She sputtered to a halt, her sense of outrage too great to be expressed in words. How could Kevan even think of bringing him back here? He'd been trying to _kill_ them.

"Traitor?" Coren suggested dryly. "Arsehole? Sneaking bastard of a brownie mage?"

She shook her head and answered hotly, "Whatever he is, we don't want him." What was Kevan thinking? The man couldn't be trusted at all, even if he was injured. He was a danger to them all.

"That's not your decision," Coren reminded her quietly.

She bit down on her instinctive response, something rude and highly inappropriate. It wasn't Coren's fault that Kevan had apparently lost his mind. "Go meet them," she ordered, taking one last look as they approached the house and hurrying off to gather her few things. It was highly out of character for Kevan to do anything that would possibly endanger the rest of them. He was normally the strictest of them all about security and keeping a low profile. Keeping themselves to themselves. You can't trust anyone completely, he had told her, even the ones who were supposedly on the same side. For him to be bringing an enemy back to a secure hiding place... that just didn't make sense.

Coren gave her a thoughtful look, but went to the door with a guarded expression on his face. He, too, knew the possible dangers here. They might be in serious trouble.

~*~

Kevan looked tired, well past the point of weariness and nearing bone deep exhaustion. The man leaning on his shoulder seemed barely conscious, and they stumbled every few steps, both with faces drawn in lines of stress and lingering pain. At the moment, Coren was having a hard time feeling sympathetic.

"What is he doing here?" he greeted them as they neared the house. He stood in the path, blocking the way, and Kevan sighed wearily as he paused, shifting the other man's weight on his shoulder. The enemy mage appeared to be taller than Kevan, even, if he had been standing upright, and Coren spared a moment to wonder how Kevan had managed to drag him back here at all.

"It's okay, Cor," Kevan told him, sounding tired. "He's with me."

Under the circumstances, that was not very reassuring. Coren gave the mage a suspicious look. "What did he do?" he asked, a dangerous edge to his voice. In spite of the fact that of the two of them, the stranger appeared to be in much worse shape than Kevan, Coren couldn't see him as anything less than a threat.

"He didn't do anything," Kevan sighed patiently, shifting again under the weight of his burden as he stood waiting for Coren to move out of his way. "If anything, I did."

Oh wonderful. Coren grimaced. He knew what that meant--Kevan didn't know exactly what had happened, but whatever it was, he was taking full responsibility for it. Kevan's sense of responsibility was never something to be taken lightly.

"Aine is ready to cut and run," he stated, eyeing the man with extreme doubt. "She thinks he's messing with your head." Coren was less familiar than Aine with the theories of deceptive, controlling magic, but he knew what she feared. No self-respecting mage would use such spells--dark magic that tended to be as damaging to the wielder as the one on whom the spell was cast.

Kevan grunted, wincing slightly as he studied the house over Coren's shoulder, but he made no other answer.

"Is he?" Coren insisted. Kevan looked at him then, and Coren was struck by the expression in his dark eyes. Almost haunted, as if he had seen a battle or a gruesome disaster scene.

"No," he answered briefly. Then he hesitated, and Coren waited. "Not like that." Coren raised his eyebrows, but Kevan went on. "It's okay, Coren. Trust me on this. I know...I know things. I'll explain later if I can. He's no danger to us now."

Coren studied him warily, unconvinced, but at least Kevan appeared to be under his own power and in his right mind.

"Alright," he acquiesced, not without reluctance. "I trust you, Kev. But _you_ can explain to Aine."

~*~

Aine relaxed a bit, but only slightly, as Coren moved aside and allowed Kevan and the man with him to continue up the path and enter the small house. Fine, then. Coren was satisfied, which actually meant a great deal to her. She trusted his judgement, especially where Kevan was concerned. The stranger was not a threat, at least for now. That didn't mean she had to like it.

He was obviously injured, however, nearly incapacitated in fact, and that went a good deal further toward easing her concern, for the moment. She was still wary, but her healer's instinct was intrigued and already noting the signs of his distress, looking for clues to the problem.

She darted over to hover by the door as Kevan made his way laboriously into the small shelter, studying the enemy mage closely as she wondered what had happened. Whatever had gone wrong, it seemed to have affected him much more severely than Kevan, and she was perversely pleased about this.

What had it been, though? The spell? Kevan had done this? That didn't quite add up... why was Kevan also affected by it? Something the other had done as well, obviously--it was rare for two spells to have such an adverse reaction to each other, but not unheard of. Perhaps Kevan knew exactly what had gone wrong, now that he had undone it.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked, more curious than worried.

"It's backlash from the spell we did," Kevan said shortly, annoyed without knowing exactly why. The spell, his mind noted oddly, as if there had been only one. But there had been two--attack and counterattack, or rather a trap that looked like an attack--but two, one from each of them. Hadn't there?

The sharp look Aine gave him said she had noticed it as well, but she said nothing, for which he was distantly grateful. Isaiah stumbled again, and Kevan winced at the echo of pain in his mind. Spell, then. Only one. Now if he just knew what it was... and how the hell that had happened in the first place. And why. Especially that.

Kevan helped him over to the sleeping mats in the corner where Aine had directed Morgan to lay out one of the blankets again, and laid him down as carefully as he could manage. Sitting back on his heels, he watched as the exhausted man slipped into unconsciousness, with only a vague, grateful whisper in his mind. _Thanks._

He rubbed his forehead with the back of his wrist, then let his hand fall with a weary sigh, resting them on his thighs. At least if Isaiah was asleep, that might keep the coming argument from turning into a shouting match. He sat for a moment, sorting through his thoughts, trying to decide what he was going to say to them, and finally deciding that no matter what he said, they weren't going to like it, so it didn't matter.

He got to his feet, giving the sleeping man one last puzzled glance, and straightened his shoulders, turning to where the others waited.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**chapter eight**

"You're insane!" Aine hissed through her teeth, arms crossed tightly over her middle, as if it were the only thing that kept her from exploding into full-fledged ranting.

Okay, not so much with the questions, then. That was fine with Kevan--he stood silently, leaning against the dusty counter as he waited for her to run out of steam. He was still tired, and didn't feel like expending the energy necessary to interrupt her, especially when Coren was standing beside her with a reproachful look on his face, backing her up with a slight nod of his head from time to time.

"You know what he is, who he's working for, and you know what he was doing, and you still bring him back here to the rest of us like you expect us to just take your word for it that he's not dangerous? How the hell can he not be dangerous?" Aine was fuming, but she had apparently said what she wanted to say, and now she looked away from him, tight-lipped, as if grudging him the chance to defend himself.

Kevan tilted his head at Coren, raising an eyebrow, asking if he had anything to add, but Coren raised his chin a bit defiantly and shook his head, signifying that Aine spoke for both of them. Great, just great.

"I don't know why he was working for the brownies," he said carefully at last, "but he isn't anymore."

"How do you know that?" Coren asked, frowning. "You can't know that, and you can't just take his word for it."

"I'm not. He didn't tell me that. I just know."

"You don't know!" Aine's voice was tense with anger and fear, and he spared a moment of sympathy for her. The only stability she had in the world was being threatened, and Aine was fiercely protective of her family as she saw it. Isaiah simply didn't belong here. "If he's not with us, he's against us, and it's pretty clear what side he's on when he attacks us in the middle of the road. Who's side are you on, anyway?" she spat, and she was a good deal more than afraid if she was questioning his loyalty. It would have hurt, if he hadn't understood where it was coming from.

He gave her a steady look, shifting his position against the counter where it was digging into his hip, and recrossing his arms across his chest. This was apparently going to take awhile. "I'm on no one's side but my own," he reminded her coolly, "and you should know that. My side includes you--all of you." He nodded at the others in the room. "And if anyone else wants to join me, they're welcome to it. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, Aine," Kevan added quietly.

Coren was still looking dubious. "So you're saying he's on your side, now?"

Kevan shrugged. "He doesn't have much choice, I don't believe. That spell..." his voice trailed off, and he ran his fingers through his hair. It was one thing to know it for himself, but it was another thing entirely to try to explain something he didn't exactly understand in the first place. "I don't know what happened," he continued finally, "but he almost died in that trap I made today. I'm the only one who could have gotten him out of it without killing him, but it was my fault that it went wrong to begin with. I owe him for that, and he owes me. He's..." Kevan grimaced, not liking the word, but not having a better way to put it that they would understand. "Bound. A trap spell in it's simplest form is no more nor less than a binding spell, and this one just ended up being more complicated than most."

There was a very long silence. Aine had turned back to give him a doubtful look, and Coren was frowning as he sorted through Kevan's words.

"What does that mean, exactly?" Coren asked cautiously at last. "More complicated how? Because of him, you mean. He did it. If you got him out of it, then you're even. He doesn't owe you anything, and you don't owe him either. Just leave him, and let's get the hell out of here while we still can."

Kevan was already shaking his head before Coren had even finished. "It's not that simple," he said patiently. "He's... I..." He was rubbing his head again as if it hurt him, though really there was little more than a lingering discomfort that was not painful so much as strange. "It did something, that spell. Not what I meant it to, and not what he meant it to either." He thought briefly of telling them what Isaiah had said to him, but since it made no sense to him there was no reason they would be able to make anything of it either. "His magic is strange," he finished at last, an explanation that did not explain anything.

"He's still in your head, isn't he?" Aine accused, giving him a narrow-eyed stare.

His head jerked up and he stared at her. Damn her perceptiveness... she knew him too well. He looked at Coren for help, and when Coren merely looked back at him with a carefully blank expression, Kevan sighed. "I can hear him," he admitted. "It wasn't a trap, but it was... a binding spell, of sorts. I undid the magic, but I can't undo the effects. A spell always works, one way or another."

They both stared at him for a while longer, silently adding up all the unspoken implications.

"So you can't leave him behind," Coren concluded finally. "You need him, and he needs you, because your spell tied his magic into yours, and neither of you can break the binding. You're both trapped." He gave Kevan a shrewd, measuring look, weighing his guess. "That about right?"

Kevan shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck, and finally nodded. "Something like that," he sighed. Trapped. That was what it felt like, all right. He was fairly certain neither of them could properly use their magic at all, unless they did it together, which meant all of them were screwed if Isaiah didn't feel like helping them.

Aine's concern was more practical. "So we lose a day after all, then. You know we can't afford this, Kevan."

"We don't have a choice either," he told her shortly. "Unless you want to carry him, which means we move even slower than usual and we'll be handicapped if we do run into trouble. We're safe enough here for the moment. I suggest you see what you can give him to get him back on his feet as soon as possible, and let me worry about the delay."

She scowled at him as she tossed her long hair back over her shoulder, but she was already turning to dig through her pack for her healer's potions, muttering to herself what might have been dosages and properties of herbs, but was more likely continued imprecations on his stubbornness and idiocy and that of men in general.

He smiled faintly, a tired expression that barely shadowed the corners of his mouth, and then turned back to Coren. "You can help me keep an eye on him, if it makes you feel better, but I promise you he's no threat."

Coren gave him a single, clearsighted glance of appraisal, and then ducked his head as he moved away, heading for the sleeping corner. "I hope you know what you're doing, Kevan." The low tone couldn't disguise the note of steel in his voice as the words floated behind him, too softly for anyone else to hear. "If you're wrong about him, I'll kill him in his sleep."

Kevan sighed, a wry smile flickering briefly again. Coren's way of saying that he cared. It was nice to be home.


	9. Chapter 9

**chapter nine**

Morgan watched silently from where he sat beside Simon, watching Kevan and the man he was helping, as well as Aine's persistent questioning and Coren's more distant watchfulness. They didn't like this, that much was clear, but they were just as clearly giving Kevan the benefit of the doubt, and a chance to explain himself.

Whether or not that explanation would be satisfactory, still remained to be seen. Morgan himself was deeply mistrustful of the whole affair, but also felt himself to be rather uninvolved--these were not his people, and it was none of his concern if they got themselves in trouble. He could always move on again when that became more convenient than staying.

He looked up nevertheless as Coren came over, studying the man and watching the way he crouched next to the sleeping stranger, the puzzled, half resentful look on his face barely hiding his worry. Doubt. Fear. Wariness and distrust. All things that had been aimed at Morgan himself, to some extent, when he'd first joined them, because as far as he could tell Coren was a suspicious son of a bitch at all times and wariness was his natural frame of mind. Must be why he got along so well with Kevan, Morgan thought with only a touch of bitterness. But even so, Coren had never looked at him with this amount of dislike and resentment. Then again, Morgan had never outright attacked him and his friends, either.

After all, it was only his own fault if Coren didn't really trust him yet. It wasn't he like he quite trusted them or his place here, either. He was too used to being a wild thing, a loner, fiercely independent and self-reliant because he liked it that way, or so he told himself. He wasn't convinced he ever wanted to throw his lot in with anyone completely.

He was distracted from these rather moody thoughts, as usual, by the puzzle of Aine as she came bustling over with a determined look and chased Coren away so she could take a look at the unconscious man. Morgan watched absently as she frowned and muttered to herself, some of it about the man's condition and much of it about the foolishness of men and the likelihood of this being a really bad idea.

He smiled, faintly, appreciating her protective streak and the way she cared so much about her little family. He thought wistfully that he wouldn't mind being a part of it, but it wasn't something he was seriously ready to commit to, yet. He was well aware that Aine's loyalty was not one sided--she demanded the same committment from them as she gave, and Morgan wasn't at all sure that he could do that even if he wanted to. He didn't know yet whether or not he wanted to.

It was something to think about, at least, and he put it aside for later, focusing instead on the quick, sure movements of her slender hands as she helped the injured man.

~*~

Aine herself was calm and businesslike, if a bit stern. Her movements were deft and efficient as she knelt beside her patient and examined him for injuries, though outside of strain and exhaustion there seemed to be nothing physically wrong with him. The most she could really do was give him a strengthening restorative draught and something to help him relax so he might actually get something out of the deep sleep he was in--or not so deep. He stirred and woke a little as she worked, long enough for her to hand him the draught she'd mixed. "Drink this," she told him, and watched with pursed lips while he did it--without question or complaint, which made little sense to her.

"What's your name?" she asked him, only the first of a long line of questions she had for him. She would be perfectly happy to keep referring to him as 'that rat bastard' or 'brownie scum', but she had a feeling that Kevan would object.

He looked slightly confused, his forehead wrinkling briefly, but after a minute he mumbled, "Tate. Isaiah Tate." The two words seemed to exhaust him, and his eyes began to slide closed again.

Aine heard Kevan stir behind her, but she ignored him, reaching quickly to make sure Isaiah drank some water before he passed out again, watching with a silent frown as he slipped back into unconsciousness. She shook her head and began replacing things in her pack, finally looking over her shoulder at Kevan. He was still standing in the small kitchen area, leaning against the rough wooden counter with his arms crossed as he watched them with a dark, brooding look.

No, not them. Him. He was watching Isaiah. Aine cursed mentally and frowned, her voice a little sharp as she called out to him. "Kevan! Get over here," she ordered. "You need to sleep."

His eyes refocused on her, and he gave a slow shake of his head, his frown deepening. "I'll be fine."

"You will not!" she retorted, pushing her reassembled pack aside and getting to her feet to glare him down. "You've been up all night and walked twice as far as the rest of us. You sleep or I will see to it that you do." It was no idle threat; it wouldn't be the first time she had slipped something into whatever he was eating or drinking to knock him out by force when he got stubborn. She was hoping she'd never have to resort to anything more drastic, but she had a trick or two in reserve, just in case. She pulled her hair over her shoulder and ran her fingers through it, weaving it absently into a loose braid; it was a nervous habit, betraying her current anxiety and general upset with Kevan and his behavior.

"Coren will keep watch," she continued, shooting an unnecessary warning look at Coren to tell him he'd better agree or else--but he was already moving, heading silently for the door to take a position outside. A hasty addition from the corner surprised her.

"I'll come with you," Morgan announced, rolling to his feet with a look that might have been relief, and following him out the door. It closed behind them, leaving an uneasy silence. Aine supposed they were both glad to get out of the tense atmosphere.

"Kevan!" she repeated, insistently, moving over to shake out another blanket for him to sleep on, placing it as far away from Isaiah Tate as possible.

Kevan stayed where he was for a moment longer, his jaw set in silent struggle, and then he sighed, rubbing a hand across his face and straightening with a nod of weary acquiescence. He walked over and reached past her to pull the blanket from the spot she'd laid it out in by the wall, dragging it over next to Isaiah's and lowering himself down with graceless fatigue.

Aine opened and closed her mouth several times, wanting to protest, to say what the hell and are you insane and several other things that were extremely unladylike, but Kevan was already rolling onto his side, closing his eyes and stretching out with his back to Isaiah. He shifted once, scooting back until Isaiah's shoulder brushed his back, and briefly opened one eye to grumble at her.

"Headache. It's better this way. Go away, Aine." His eyes closed again and his breathing evened out, sleep coming quickly after the grueling day he'd had.

Aine closed her mouth with a snap, annoyed beyond belief and worried in equal measure. Headache. Just fucking wonderful. Her eyes went to the other man's peaceful face on the other side of Kevan, and she almost regretted giving him any help at all, healer or no. She hated him with a simple, incisive bitterness. For a minute longer she stayed glaring at the Tate man, and then turned sharply away from him, forcing herself to let go of the need to keep watch on a man she considered an enemy for more reasons than she cared to think about.


	10. Chapter 10

**chapter ten**

Coren paid little attention to his silent shadow, Morgan following him outside and taking up an unobtrusive position from which to keep watch. If Morgan wanted to sit out here and bore himself while most likely, nothing at all happened, that was his lookout, and Coren felt no particular need to entertain him, and no curiosity about why he'd chosen to do so. More than likely, he'd simply wanted to get away from the tense atmosphere inside, which Coren could certainly understand. For his own part, he was just as glad to have some time to himself, some quiet in which to think. He was worried as Aine was, though for different reasons.

It was extremely unlike Kevan to have done this, and his mind kept circling around the potential threat and problems it could cause. Knowing the reasons--or most of them, because Coren doubted that Kevan had told them everything, or even that he'd been able to--did little to ease his mind about the situation. Kevan had an enemy linked to him, bound to him so incontrovertibly that he'd chosen to risk bringing him along rather than leave him to be found by those presumably on his own side. Coren did not at all like the idea of someone who posed a clear threat having a direct link into Kevan's mind, even if it apparently went both ways.

He'd been serious when he told Kevan that he would kill the other man if Kevan was wrong about him. Coren thought privately that Kevan would possibly have been better off just doing that anyway, although Kevan seemed to think he needed him, and Coren was not prepared to contradict him on that, as of yet. He wished again that he knew more about magic in general, could judge this for himself, what might have happened and what it might mean. Kevan never being able to use his magic again would be a serious price to pay, but it had sounded as if Kevan, at least, believed that to be the case if they did not have this military mage to help him.

Help from an enemy, even one that might be willing to switch sides, was a dangerous thing to have to depend on. Coren didn't like it at all. Neither did he see any other course of action than what Kevan had already decided on. As he came to this conclusion yet again in his thoughts, he let out a faint sigh and shifted slightly where he sat on a fallen log, half concealed behind the brush surrounding the small house. Calling it a house, he thought sourly, was rather an exaggeration, but it had given them safe shelter more than once and he couldn't quite bring himself to the rudeness of labeling it a shack.

"You think Kevan is right about this?"

The soft, meditative question caught him off guard, and he shot a quick, sharp glance over at his companion. Morgan was studiously watching the path, chin in hand as he sat comfortably--sprawled, really--on the other end of the log.

"He's always right," Coren answered brusquely, perhaps not quite truthfully, but annoyed that yet again Morgan was questioning Kevan's judgement and leadership. They would all have been dead many times over if not for Kevan, and Coren felt insulted on Kevan's behalf that Morgan was ungrateful enough to so continually challenge him on things. Always small things, always in a subtle but persistent background sarcasm that Kevan normally chose to ignore--Morgan never pushed the issue, never confronted Kevan directly, but Coren had grown very tired of hearing his constant doubt and faintly snide questioning of every decision Kevan made.

"But you are worried," Morgan pointed out, "you and the girl." He flicked a measuring sideways glance at Coren, then returned his eyes to the road.

Another thing that Coren found extremely annoying about him--the way he always referred to Aine as 'the girl'. "She has a name," he snapped, quelling the urge to shift in restless irritation.

Morgan waved a dismissive hand without looking over. "Yes, yes. But she is worried, and you are worried, and both of you are unhappy with this... captive Kevan has brought us. If you are so certain he is right--what do you fear?"

Coren bit his lip, hunkering down in his seat and wishing... not that it mattered. Not that it would have helped. "I am not afraid," he answered finally. "But I do not like it." Kevan was a good judge of people, and Coren could not remember him being wrong before; but there was a first time for everything.

"She is afraid," Morgan murmured, as if to himself, and Coren looked over in surprise. Aine was afraid, but she buried it in her anger and frustration, and he hadn't thought it would be apparent to someone who knew her as relatively little as Morgan. He grunted, noncomittally, and was even more surprised when Morgan gave him a thoughtful look and continued, "What is she afraid of?"

And this time, he asked as if he knew that Coren knew the answer.

Coren did know the answer, but he did not know what to say. That Morgan had seen it was surprising enough, but why he was asking about it baffled Coren completely. He would have thought that in the current circumstances, a fairly obvious guess could be made.

"Why should she not be?" he asked, shaking his head. "He is an enemy, and Kevan is not being careful of him. Aine is very protective of her family and she does not feel safe when it is threatened."

"Yes," Morgan said finally in a musing tone, looking not at him but through him, as if he were not there. "But there is more to it than that." His gaze sharpened suddenly, fixing keenly on Coren's face. "Something else."

Coren lifted his chin and looked stubbornly back. How dare this newcomer, a relative stranger, interrogate him about what was after all his family too, of which he was just as protective of as Aine in his own way. It was none of Morgan's business, and Coren had no reason to tell him.

"What is she afraid of?" Morgan repeated in an oddly gentle tone, and Coren was suprised by a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes, as if the answer mattered. He bit his lip, returning his gaze to the landscape as if he remembered his duty, although he saw nothing.

It was still none of Morgan's business. But neither was it exactly a secret, and he would likely figure it out on his own soon enough. There was, to be honest, no reason _not_ to tell him either. Coren took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

"She is afraid he will take Kevan away from her," he admitted quietly.

There was a short silence, and although he did not turn to look he sensed Morgan's eyes slide away as he turned back to the path also. "Ahh," Morgan said finally, a sound rather like a sigh; perhaps of comprehension, perhaps of resignation, or merely of contemplation, though he did not sound surprised.

Coren shrugged uncomfortably. "It's no one's business but theirs," he noted. "It's a rather complicated story. Basically it comes down to this--Kevan can't say no to Aine. About anything. Unless he has what he considers a more important reason--and Kevan's ideas of important are often rather different than anyone else's."

"So they are lovers, then," Morgan said, not quite a question.

"Mmmm," Coren agreed, a little relieved that he had not had to say it himself. He shifted, bringing up his knees to rest his chin on them as he watched.

Morgan shook his head with a bemused expression. "They can't just.... surely she must know that it can't go on indefinitely. It's not right."

Coren shot him a quick scowl. "Who are you to judge us? It's not normal, but it works for them. They don't need to explain themselves to you."

Slightly irritated, Morgan frowned, glancing over briefly with a look of strained patience. "That isn't what I meant." He did not continue immediately, and Coren wondered if he even knew what he did mean. "It's... not meant to be," he said at last, sounding as if he were struggling to find the words.

Coren raised his eyebrows, and looked away again, but he was thinking about it. It was true enough, after all, but again he was surprised that Morgan had seen it. "She knows that," he answered finally. "She has always known it. Kevan is... he is not attracted to her, or to any woman. He cares for her as his sister and is her lover because she wishes it, and he has no reason to tell her no--as of yet. She has been lucky in that he has not found a reason, thus far, that he has remained unattached and therefore hers, and has not found anyone else he truly cares for or wishes to be with. But she knows it's just a matter of time," he added softly.

Morgan leaned back on his hands, staring up at the sky with a slight frown and no longer even pretending to pay attention to the land around them. "I think," he said finally, sounding thoughtful, "that their time is up. She is right to think as she does; but she should not be afraid." He said nothing more, even when Coren gave him a questioning look.

"What do you mean?" he asked when Morgan seemed content to remain silent.

He got a slightly surprised glance in return, as Morgan sat up again and leaned his elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them as he raised an eyebrow at Coren. "She should know that even if Kevan does find someone else, she might find someone too. She should. She deserves better than that."

Coren shook his head wryly, but he could hardly argue with that. He shrugged and settled in to do his job properly, somewhat relieved that the awkward conversation was now over.


End file.
